


Skies Like These

by Titania de la Mer (Titania_de_la_Mer)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Season/Series 07, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_de_la_Mer/pseuds/Titania%20de%20la%20Mer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missed moments of Season 7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skies Like These

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Season 7, as well as a smattering of references to the pilot, the first movie and Per Manum  
> Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Mulder and Scully. But I do own the Barbie doll versions of them.
> 
> While I admit that my teenage self learned much from fanfiction, in years gone by, please note that this story is for adult readers, only.

She lets her thumb brush gently across his lips. They linger there for a moment, acting of their own volition, and then her mind pulls them back, before either of them has the chance to notice the indiscretion.

Walk away, she tells herself. She turns and does just that.

She wonders why she came all this way. Why travel across town, for a few words in a hallway? It always begins the same way. She leaves the office, or her apartment, as if summoned. She needs to feel him close, but once at his door, her conscious mind takes over and like so many times before, she runs. On one occasion, he followed her. She often thinks about how different her life might have been, had that kiss happened before the bee stung. She thinks about it now, as she can still feel his lips on her fingertips. Maybe if she keeps returning to this hallway, she’ll get another chance to find out.

But not this time.

 

XXX

 

Scully catches his eye as he gets off the elevator. His smile is contagious, even from down the hall. She smiles back, taking in the details of his appearance, as they come into focus. His injuries have healed and he looks healthier than ever, ready for work in his suit and tie – and that smile. It had been ruining her since the day they’d first met. Lately, she’s been letting it ruin her, pleasuring in its sweet undoing.

“Morning,” he greets, as he approaches, and the pair continue to walk, side by side, passing other agents and federal employees, going about their daily routines. On occasion, one will look up, cautiously whispering to co-workers, “There goes Spooky and the missus.” She can’t believe that the nickname is still in use. In the beginning, it was a mix of mockery and envy, particularly from the women, who used to follow Mulder around, isolating him from his partner and her alleged death-stare and making chit-chat in the lobbies. Miffed when he didn’t reciprocate their interest, the gossip would start, but Scully would always pretend to ignore them, meticulously maintaining her façade of indifference. Nowadays, they’ve learned to avoid the two of them, altogether, but sometimes she still feels like everyone is watching.

“The usual,” Mulder tells the young man behind the counter, taking out a five-dollar bill and paying for both of their coffees. “Right?” he asks, turning to her.

Scully nods and mouths, “Yeah.” She can’t stop taking him in.

The smell of his cologne, which signals his closeness and carves out a craving in her chest that gnaws whenever he moves even the slightest bit away from her.

His freshly shaven cheeks that she could touch right now, if either of them were anybody else.

His tie.

She suppresses a grin at his choice of pattern. Tiny green globes appear as ringed planets against a blue expanse. _Subtle, Mulder._ She chuckles, inwardly.

“Thank you,” Mulder says to the barista, taking both coffees from the counter and handing one to her. “What are you laughing at?” he asks, even though she’s sure she hadn’t laughed out loud.

Scully looks around the café. Several people have noticed their presence, she sees, noting the sideways glances from behind clipboards and steaming cups. She looks up at him, smiling. Her smile is contagious too, she observes, when his mouth begins to twitch, waiting for her response.

She fingers his tie, tracing the would-be planets along their orbit. She knows she’s developed a habit of “fixing” his tie lately. Although she won’t say it anywhere that anyone could hear, she is also well aware of the effect it has on him. If possible, he flushes slightly, although only she who knows his face so well would perceive the change in color. Around them, people watch, making a mental note of the rumors they will spread, once agents Mulder and Scully have left the room. She delights in the prospect.

With one more gentle tug on his tie, she chirps, “Ready to get to work, Agent Mulder?” She thinks she can almost hear his heart flutter inside his chest, but maybe that was just wishful thinking, on her part. At least, she reasons, when she turns to walk down the hallway from which they came, she doesn’t need to look back to know that he is walking after her.

 

XXX

 

Mulder follows her, as she strolls lightly towards the elevator. He’d make more of an effort to keep up, but it was only on such rare occasions that he could check her out, without her noticing his wandering eyes. He notes the subtle sway of her hips underneath her charcoal business skirt, which cuts right above the knee – the back of which he pays extra attention to, contoured in translucent pantyhose that captivates his senses, as she walks three steps ahead of him. He thinks about how much he’d love to touch that spot behind her knee. But then again, every day it was a different spot.

Looking around, he thinks he catches a male agent peering their way. Wondering if this man is also checking-out the back of his partner’s knee, he suddenly wants to sock the guy. He rapidly extinguishes the urge, mentally admonishes himself for a possessiveness that he has no right to have. Scully could take care of herself, and besides, they weren’t lovers and therefore, he deduces, this guy could, theoretically, ogle the back of her knee as long and hard as she would allow him. The very thought makes him cringe.

Scully stops and turns to face him. They’re back at the elevator. It opens and they move inside.

“What’s wrong, Mulder? You look like you’ve tasted something foul.” He watches her fingers as they push the button labeled “B” and he recalls how those same fingers tugged gently at his necktie, only a few moments earlier. No need to be possessive, he assures himself. Scully is all his.

“Not enough sugar,” he complains, tongue-in-cheek. Scully raises an eyebrow, not believing him for one nanosecond, before taking a sip of her own coffee.

 _When did they get here?_ Mulder wonders. He watches her lips as they press against the rim of her cup. _Great! Now, her lips. Could we not have stuck to the back of the knee for the rest of the afternoon?_ Before he knew it, every part of her would be enticing enough to effectively force him into mental health leave. And Mulder never took a day off. It would be too suspicious.

At some point, a line was crossed – only unceremoniously and not in the way he had always envisioned it. He used to imagine the two of them professing their attraction for one another, loud and clear. He pictured them in bed, voracious from years of built-up tension, crossing a line that could not be re-crossed. Deep down, he still holds-out hope that the latter might have yet to come true, but as for acknowledging the recent shift in their relationship, there was no obvious marker of when it had transpired. At some point, he’d just realized that he’d been loving her for some time, and at some point, he just knew – well, hoped – that she knew.

Of course, there was something to be said for verbalizing those feelings. He’d tried it, once or twice, but he should have known that the circumstances weren’t ideal. Scully was a doctor and she was well versed in the effects of drugs on a man’s judgment. Since then, he’d resolved to let it go. Saying it now feels so long overdue that he worries that the time might never be right. Besides, he thinks, what if he’s wrong? What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if she leaves? It wasn’t worth the risk.

 _If he knew this would be their last day together, would it be worth the risk?_ He remembers pressing her satin-clad body against his own, kissing her, relentlessly, until her muscles relaxed against his. For a moment, she gave herself away. She had wanted it as much as he did.

But that was just a dream. If only he had another ship to jump off of, he muses, his thoughts riddled in self-deprecating sarcasm. Then he’d have the courage to try it again. If only the world was about to end.

The elevator dings and he follows her out. She’s lecturing about their latest case. Still defending an implausible explanation, no doubt. He wants to listen, but his brain is working overtime, having just realized that there are only nineteen more days until the end of the world.

 

XXX

 

Scully gazes up at the small television screen, counting down to midnight. She watches wistfully as people celebrate the new millennium in Times Square, living their lives with lights and confetti. All the while, she and Mulder are here, under fluorescent bulbs and surrounded by whitewashed walls. Staying still, while everyone else moves through time and space. A far from extraordinary moment.

For some reason, though, it ceases to bother her in the way that it does usually. She’d chosen this life, and if she’s being honest, she has everything she needs.

 _I wouldn’t change a day_. She contemplates how far they’ve come. If the world did, in fact, end tonight – or next year, for that matter, even if “no one likes a math geek “– it would have to be enough. Their partnership meant more to her than anything else and yes, it was enough.

She feels his eyes on her and looks up. Without words, without warning, his lips descend onto hers. She doesn’t think, she just closes her eyes and feels. The kiss is a gentle caress – non-aggressive, non-threatening. She doesn’t move, paralyzed in a moment that might be three seconds or three hours. She remembers the way his lips felt beneath her fingertips, in the hallway, three months ago. Making a quick comparison, she concludes that this is better.

Mulder pulls away first, although it takes her a beat to notice. She’s still lost in her trance when she sees his sheepish grin. She smiles inquisitively, hoping that he won’t notice that her world is spinning.

Adorably, he shrugs. She thinks she can sense an air of nervousness in him, but she’s too dazed to be certain of it.

“The world didn’t end.”

“No it didn’t,” she agrees, before quickly averting her gaze. _What is this feeling? Relief? Release? Regret?_ She wonders why it took them so long. There was a meaninglessness in holding back for so many years, if it could have always been this easy. Bemused and contemplative, they wish each other their happy-new-years. She still can’t look at him, but she lets him touch her in the way that they’re familiar. Grazing the small of her back with his one good arm, he guides her out of the fluorescent, whitewashed, un-extraordinary room and into the next millennium.

 

XXX

 

Scully tosses and turns in her sheets. She loathes hotel bedding, although one would think she’d be used to it by now. The starchiness of the fabric reminds her of a shell, rather than a second skin. It feels foreign to her.

Huffing forcefully in resignation, she watches shadows dance across the wall in front of her. Mulder is on the other side. She wonders if he hates hotel bedding as much as she does.

He’d called her out to Chicago, without offering details. Anyone else would have demanded more information, before hopping on a plane, but he knows she will follow him to ends of the earth, without question. The case was interesting enough, as she trusted it would be. She tries to recount the specifics of their investigation, but her mind keeps wandering off, struggling to escape through to the other side of the wall, where her partner sleeps without her.

Most of the time, she can ward of the appetite, but on nights like this one, she doesn’t expect to win the fight. In defeat, she throws off the horrible beds sheets, closing her eyes and letting her imagination take over.

He’s trying to bug her in the way that he enjoys so much. She never submits to him, but he must know the effect he has on her, otherwise he wouldn’t bother with the dry, rakish humor. Now, he’s covered in water as the pipe bursts and she tries to conceal her affection with amusement. Her hand slips under the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms and she closes her eyes.

He’s sitting next to her in the rental car when she catches him thinking. Spellbound by his beautiful mind at work, she wishes she could dig into him, excavate the darkest corners of his psyche and find him waiting at the place that exists only for her, and her alone. Already wet with arousal, she stipples patterns across her clit, uttering his name, softly, as she fingers herself. She envisions him above her, kneeling between her legs. She spreads them, wide, and lifts her hips off the bed, feeling the cool night air on her damp skin, even under her clothes. Finally, she moves two fingers inside of herself, gasping in pleasure, but at the same time, wishing it were his hot, hard cock, instead.

She moans, forcing her fingers deeper as her hands snake up and down her body. It occurs to her that the more she feeds these fantasies, the harder it will be to work with him. She’d managed, somehow, for nearly seven years, but now, her small, narrow fingers are never enough. She resolves to worry about it tomorrow.

She flips over for a better angle, pressing her palm against her pulsating clit as she drives into the mattress. His name plays on a loop in her mind, as she pictures him beneath her, lost in the throes of his own passion. He declares his love for her as she falls over the brink, sinking into exquisite oblivion. Scared that he might hear her from the next room, she smothers her face into her horrible bed sheets, to keep from crying-out his name.

 

XXX

 

Working with Mulder is like being in class with her high school crush. Nothing is getting done. She is convinced that her brain has turned to mush and so, she puts in the extra effort to keep-up. Just as it was in high school, no one else can detect the supreme discomfort she feels, whenever he sits next to her. She still pulled-off straight As with deft and precision, especially in chemistry and bio. Nowadays, it’s only more of the same – nobody notices her blush, her squirm, her light-headedness. Nevertheless, she can’t help but be ever so thankful that her scalpel only cuts through those who are already dead.

Ever since that midnight kiss, she seems to have a one-track mind. She’s dizzy with excitement, but for what, she isn’t sure. She’d dropped him off at his apartment that night, giving him instructions on how to care for his injured arm. He had nodded, eagerly, but since he rarely takes medical advice, she thinks it’s a cover. Neither of them knows how to say goodbye now.

Earlier this week, she and Mulder went for a walk before starting their day. Normally, she goes for a run, or comes in early to catch up on her paperwork. Lately, however, Mulder has been showing-up at the office before she arrives and they’ve taken to spending the mornings together.

 

“It’s January,” she’d protested, albeit, weakly, when he’d suggested some fresh air. Her slow smile gave her away and she quickly grabbed her coat and joined him at the door.

The air was crisp, but the sky blue – a chilly, pale, cloudless blue. Gazing up at the cold expanse, she had noticed the moon, still visible in the daylight.

“She’s falling for him,” Mulder had said and her heart had surely skipped a beat.

“What?” she’d asked in a panic, her eyes reverting back down to earth.

“The moon,” he’d replied. “Or should I say, she’s ‘mooning’ over him.” His bad sense of humor had put her at ease.

“Who is she mooning over, Mulder?” she’d asked, staring back up at the moon. Edges hazy, she could barely make out the shape, but she could see that it was smiling.

“The sun,” Mulder had explained. “Legend has it that the sun and moon, having crossed paths every dawn and every dusk, began to develop an affection for one another. She admired his bright rays of light and he, her mysterious glow. One day, after years of yearning and heartache, they decide to give it all up – to leave their lives behind, if only for the chance to be together.”

“An eclipse?” she’d asked, uncharacteristically riveted by the fantastical narrative.

“Very perceptive, Agent Scully,” he’d said, continuing on. “But their union couldn’t last, you see. They had their work – people on Earth who needed them as their light in the darkness. So they agree to remain apart. Every day, he sets so that she can rise and she does the same for him.”

“But she’s still here,” she’d countered, insistently. “She’s always here. He’s just not paying attention.”

“Yeah,” he’d agreed, shrugging and giving her a playful nudge. “I guess he didn’t consider all of the possibilities.” He’d looked down at her, then, but she was still immersed in his tragic love story. “Hey,” he’d said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “You’re shivering.”

Snapping out of her reverie, she’d known, instinctively, that the shivers were not due to the cold. “I told you, it’s January,” she’d said, hugging her chest for protection, from the winter-air and anything else that might send a chill throughout her body.

“Let’s head back,” he’d said, warming her arms with his touch and walking her back to Hoover building.

 

Scully replays their conversation in her head as her eyes stare, unblinking, at the page of the book she’s reading – was reading. Before she was distracted by thoughts of her partner and his apparent expertise in mythical love affairs. The sun and the moon. Perfect opposites. Partners in crime. Forever apart. She’d heard that one before.

She can hear his footsteps approaching. Scrambling, she searches for a good hiding place for her book, which he must not see. She yanks open the bottom drawer of an unused cabinet, tucked away in the far corner. Unfortunately, she and Mulder have worked together for too long, although only in hiding spaces have they grown to think alike. Inside the drawer is a pile of DVDs that Scully figures, judging by their format, must be more recent than she hopes. She groans, more so due to having to find a new hiding spot, rather than the fact that her partner, evidently, still harbors an obsession for pornography. 

She hears a phone ring in the distance and Mulder’s muffled voice as he answers his call. Saved by the bell, she thinks, as she scans the room for an unassuming disguise or cubbyhole. She’s about to close the drawer when the title of one of the movies catches her eye: “Red Hot Redheads.” She picks it up, curiously examining the cover, which features two scantily clad crimson-haired women in cliché come-hither poses. She’s still gawking at it when Mulder busts through the door.

“Another review coming up. Those bastards are bound to use any excuse….” His voice trails off, when he notices Scully holding the DVD. They both seem to freeze, unable to discern which of them is the one being caught in the act.

“I was just doing some organizing,” she says hurriedly.

“Those are old,” he croaks.

“I’ll just …." She motions to the drawer.

“Yeah, that’s a good…place.”

“So, we have a review,” she offers, attempting to change the subject.

“Yeah, and we’re being audited. Not for a few months, though….” He rambles on, as she drops the movie back into its drawer. As it re-joins the pile, she’s tempted to take a look at the rest. Sneaking a quick peek, she takes stock of his collection. It’s red heads galore. Before she can start analyzing the data, she slams the drawer shut and tries to pay attention to him, as he rants about the powers-that-be. Luckily, in his jitters, he doesn’t seem to notice the book that is still clutched within her left hand. “Trying to Conceive,” the cover reads. He’s still going on about the impending review, blaming the higher-ups for their lack of insight, lack of faith, lack of intelligence. Deducing that he is sufficiently preoccupied for the time being, she walks right passed him and nonchalantly slips the book into her briefcase.

 

XXX

 

Another furtive glance at the clock. Ten to five. Another day has passed. She has to ask him today. Not too soon, though. She needs an end-of-the-day getaway. Ten more minutes. It’s an excuse – she knows that. It’ s not as if either of them keep regular hours.

She watches him across the room. He’s absorbed in his note taking. He barely notices she’s there, let alone waiting to drop a bomb on him.

“Well, that’s all I can take of that,” he says, rubbing his eyes and leaning back from his desk. He flings his pencil up at the ceiling and it catches. He grins at her, with the most endearing look of self-satisfaction, and gets up from his chair.

Scully inhales sharply. She had been carefully observing him all day long, but this, she was not expecting.

“You’re leaving?” she asks, feigning an air of casual curiosity.

“Yeah, I’ll finish the report tomorrow. I’m seeing double right now.” He rolls his eyes at the papers strewn all over the desk. “You staying for a bit?”

“Yeah,” she says, feeling her moment slip away, “Yeah, I’ll finish up.”

He smiles at her and grabs his coat.

 _Now!_ she thinks, but she doesn’t move.

“Night, Scully,” he says, as he reaches for the doorknob.

“Mulder!” she blurts out, before she can stop herself. He pauses in the doorway and for a moment, she panics. The door is open.

“I, uh…” She stands to meet him, gazing out at the hallway beyond. Here they are, again. Another hallway. “I need to ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says. The warmth in his voice irons out her nerves just enough to give her the courage to go on.

“I visited another fertility specialist. With the…” Her voice trails off. She doesn’t need to finish. He nods. An apology is written all over his face. Earlier this week, he’d revealed to her what he’d known for years. That he’d found unusable vials of her ova in a government lab, but would never tell her as much, as he sought to protect her from further pain. In spite of his good intentions, she knows he still harbors guilt for hiding the truth from her.

“Anyway, “ she pushes on. “My doctor thinks there is a chance – a good chance, that with the right approach, I might be able to conceive.”

His eyes widen. “Scully that’s wonderful.” He reaches out to touch her, gently squeezing her arm. He doesn’t get it.

“I’ll need to start soon,” she continues, “And I’ll need… “ She takes a deep breath, “A donor.”

She avoids his eyes, his face altogether. If she looks, who knows if she can carry-on.

“There are services, of course. Counseling to find a match. But I…” Accidentally, she looks up and catches his expression. He knows where this is going and if she’s reading him right, he’s even more scared than she is. Somehow, that gives her confidence.

“Mulder, I can’t imagine the father of my child being anyone but you.”

And there it is, out in the open.

They stand in silence. She feels her cheeks get hot and rushes to fill the soundless void, before she loses the ability to speak.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” she stammers and he nods, frantically, as his lips form a nervous smile. _Please don’t answer now_ , she prays. She’s used up all of her stamina and she is too weak. A rejection would paralyze her, at this moment. “It’s a lot to consider,” she sputters, rambling now, to prevent him from producing a response. “There’s the timing, the logistics…”

She stops when she realizes that he’s still nodding. He hasn’t said a word. _Maybe I broke him._ In any case, she surmises, if he can’t speak, he can’t say no. That’ll save her from further embarrassment.

“I should be heading out,” she says, fetching her jacket. “Let me know.” Awkwardly, she rushes past him, momentarily forgetting that he was done for the day, as well. She walks faster, so that he won’t catch up.

 

XXX

 

“The answer is yes,” he says, elated. _Yes, a hundred times over,_ he thinks. If she hadn’t hurried out, the other day, he would have had to fake it – to give her the impression that he had to think it over. The truth was, he’d thought it over, many times before. Especially, once he had learned that she would never be a mother. Since that day, he had thought about it more often than he would ever admit to her. He’d blamed himself for her abduction, as well as her resulting illness. Those things, however, he’d been able to fix, one way or another. This, on the other hand, was something that he’d had no power to undo, until now.

Seeing her momentary heartbreak, when she had assumed the answer was no, he chastises himself. _Why play these games?_ She is his best friend and when she embraces him, he forgets his ego and holds her close. She never said she loved him, but maybe this would be enough.

He lightens the moment with a joke. She laughs, breathlessly, and he turns to leave.

He wonders why he came all this way, only to leave as soon as he’d arrived. _Let her take your coat. Stay, for once._ But he keeps walking, like he has, so many times before.

But this time, he’s walking on air.

 

XXX

 

He remembers the visions that had flickered in and out of his consciousness, when she’d touched him, in his hallway, many weeks ago. A sandy beach in the sky and a spaceship in the sand. He’d nearly lost his faith, but he’d found the strength to rebuild it, with someone’s help. He wouldn’t dare tell her, lest he’s wrong and he gets her hopes up for nothing, but somehow, he just knows they’ll have a son.

They rarely speak, nowadays, but not out of coldness or indifference. They don’t speak, now, because they don’t know how.

She returns from her doctor’s appointment, as though it had been a routine exam, breezing by him with a simple “hello” and opening her laptop to begin her field report. She’s clocking an unnatural words-per-minute, he realizes, based on the rapid clicking pattern. Reaching over the monitor, he places his hand over hers and the noises cease. She looks up, surprised to see him in front of her and he can’t help but laugh at how adorable she is when she’s mystified.

“Hey,” she sighs, knowing that she’s been caught in a daydream.

“How’d it go?” he inquires, as she closes the laptop. One wall down. He wishes he could just as easily demolish the rest.

“We’ll see,” she replies, shakily, gazing down at her lap.

Getting her to look up, he smiles encouragingly, and she smiles back. It suddenly occurs to him that his child could be growing inside of her, right now, as they speak. He doesn’t know how to process the possibility that they’d never be the same, from here on in.

He suddenly feels the need to keep her here, with him, always. He wonders at his youthful arrogance, thinking that she would never leave and he scrutinizes his current motivations, worried that he chose to father her child only so that he’d never have to see her walk out that door.

“Mulder.” He hears her voice and realizes that he’s been gaping at her belly. She reaches out to touch him and his mind reverts back to that faraway memory of that faraway beach and the little boy who would help him build castles in the stars.

She prods him, gently, with her sweet, soulful eyes.

“You’re my touchstone,” he whispers, as she once again, reminds him of why he’s here.

He hopes that the baby has her eyes.

 

XXX

 

They’d tried and tried again. She’d always kept positive, if only because it meant never thinking beyond the present moment. She couldn’t seriously think about sharing a baby with Mulder, whether the child would call him “Dad,” or what the Bureau would think of them. She figures, at some point, they would have been split-up and assigned new partners. She wouldn’t let herself dwell on the thought, but she understood that it would have been a virtual inevitability. Mulder must have known it, too. She knows how important his work is to him and she knows that he wouldn’t do it without her. He was about to sacrifice it all and it moves her right down to the core of her being.

He holds her now, as she weeps into his shoulder. “Never give up on a miracle,” he soothes and she is suddenly overcome by his apparent love for her – a love that neither of them will verbalize. It’s never been the right moment, and it isn’t tonight. She doesn’t doubt that he would give up the world for her – he nearly did, these past couple of months and he would have, had the procedure been a success. She can’t help but think, however, that he did it for her, not for them. Not for her and him. There’s no way he wanted this more than his work – more than the truth he’d sought his whole adult life. She reasons that, miracle or no miracle, this failure was probably for the best. She kisses his cheek and hugs him tight.

“Thank you,” she whispers into his hair. “Thank you, for being here for me.”

 

XXX

 

Scully is thanking him. She releases herself from their embrace and takes a deep, calming breath. Mulder nods, unsure of how to respond.

“Of course,” he tells her. He feels an ache rise up his throat but he can’t let her see how much the news has devastated him. He has to be strong for her.

She turns to walk towards the bedroom. With every step she takes away from him, he feels the distance between them grow. _Not this time_ , he thinks, feeling as though he’s about to explode. They were so close. And now she’s walking away again.

“Scully, if there’s anything I can do…” he starts, without thinking of the connotations of such a common expression of sympathy. He wants her to know that it’s his loss too, but he can’t find the right words. Leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, he watches her as she hangs up her jacket and removes her earrings.

“It’s fine, Mulder,” she tells him. “I’m fine.” Her words impale like a knife through the gut. He had heard that line one too many times before and it always meant that she was in trouble. He understood the reasons why a woman in her position would feel the need to put up that front, but for the life of him, he doesn’t know what else he can do to show to her that, with him, she doesn’t need to prove a thing.

“Let me stay here with you,” he offers. “Let me make you a tea.”

“What for?” she asks. Her eyes are red and her voice breaks.

He knows tea isn’t going to help, but he couldn’t very well offer to hold her while she sleeps, or make love to her while she cries or even suggest that they give up everything so that she might find another way to have a baby, once free of her obligations to his reckless, selfish pursuit of the so-called truth. He swallows hard, knowing that if he was half the man she deserved to have father her child, he would do all of those things, but in spite of the fact that he’d spent his life traversing, with ease, though the darkest corners of life on this planet, he’s still bound by this debilitating, inexplicable fear.

“Mulder, you should go, “ she says, heavily. Anger and frustration build-up within him, but he reminds himself that she is distraught and unaware of just how much she’s hurting him. “We’ve had a hard week,” she tells him. “You need to get home and get some rest.”

He nods, eyes on the floor. She approaches and gently rubs his arm. “Mulder, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m going to be fine.” Her voice is soft and assuring, but he wants to scream. She thinks this is all about her. How wrong she is.

“Okay,” he says, burying his anguish and reaching out to pat her shoulder. “Okay, you’ll call me, if you need me?”

“Yeah,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll see you on Monday, then.” He turns and leaves her there, not looking back, locking the front door with the key she had made for him. Alone in the hallway, he inhales sharply, involuntarily smashing his fist against the door. As he connects, the sound is so loud, there was no way she didn’t hear it.

 

XXX

 

Scully watched him sleep, the night his mother died. Sat in the chair by the window and watched. He wasn’t always asleep. Sometimes, he would get up, open drawers and search through stashes of old documents. Searching. For what, she was never sure.

“Mulder, stop. There’s nothing to find here. No evidence –“

“Why are you here?” he shoots at her. As soon as he says it, he takes it back, murmuring his apologies and laying back on the bed.

Scully bites her lip, but doesn’t respond. She believes she deserved that. After making him leave that night – the night she’d found out she wasn’t pregnant—she’d heard him hit the front door in frustration. She had cried, but she didn’t go after him.

The winter had dragged on, dark as usual. They had healed and resumed their usual repartee, as she knew they would, but something was still “off” and both of them could sense it.

“You should get some sleep, Scully,” he says. “Don’t stay up on account of me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” she agrees, reluctantly. It’s nearly five in the morning. She’s still wearing her work clothes, but she’s too tired to even think about changing. She lies down beside him, facing the wall and closing her eyes. She can’t see him, or touch him, but she can feel his presence near. She sighs, recognizing that this is precisely the kind of intimacy they were known for – so close, and yet, miles apart. As she’s falling asleep, she can feel the mattress move as he gets up, again, leaving her alone.

 

XXX

 

 _“You’d die for Mulder, but you won’t allow yourself to love him.”_ Scully played Cancer Man’s taunting diagnosis, ad nauseam, in her head, as the Gunmen scanned the disk she’d brought back with her. Mulder hadn’t spoken to her since her return. He wouldn’t even look at her. She had tried to make eye contact – to convey to him that she never meant to betray their trust – but he wouldn’t even look her way.

After the Gunmen had told her that the disk was blank, she’d panicked. _Had it all been for nothing?_ She’d stared at the screen in disbelief, not noticing that Mulder had left the room. Finally, the trio had said their goodbyes, nervously, as she was sure they could sense the tension between her and her partner, who still had yet to speak.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Frohike had consoled.

“Could have happened to anyone,” Langley had added, looking cautiously over at Mulder, who was now brooding by the window.

Byers said nothing. Just gave her a look of sympathy and waved awkwardly as he and his buddies took-off, faster than the speed of light.

Once the door is closed, she confronts him. “Mulder,” she begins, but he gets up and moves to the kitchen. “Mulder,” she calls after him, cornering him by the sink.

“Scully, it’s late. You should go too,” he says, without emotion.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she states, firmly.

“Fine. Stay,” he sneers. “Make yourself comfortable,” he adds, although his suggestion is coated in sarcasm. Neither of them requires yet another overnight session of emotional distance. They’d had one too many, as of late – the night that his mother had passed-way, as well as the night he had taken her in, after a vengeful killer had attacked her in her own apartment. He had been comforting, that night, but his uncharacteristic skepticism, although motivated by concern, was somehow alienating. Still, Scully had hoped that they had moved beyond it all. Once he had found closure in regards to his sister’s disappearance, after all those years of searching, he seemed to be at peace. Now, however, he’s clearly agitated and fuming. He pushes past her, into the living room, where he begins fiddling with a jar of fish food.

Scully sighs in frustration. “Mulder,” she approaches him. “Mulder, you have to know, I tried to reach you. Every day, I mailed you – “

“You could have been killed, Scully!” he spits, throwing down the jar and spilling its contents onto the floor. Appearing not to notice, or care, about the mess, he looks directly at her, for the first time. “You went behind my back. You followed your own foolish aspirations, disregarding everything you know about him.” He’s standing so close to her, she can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Underneath, his blood was boiling.  “And,” he adds, “You lied to me.”

He glares down at her and she feels her own resentment rising.  He turns to leave, but her words stop him in his tracks. “And how many times have you done it, Mulder?”

“What?” he asks, incredulous.

“Ran off to God-knows-where on the basis of some hunch?”

“That’s different,” he scoffs.

“How so?” she challenges. She’s livid now and he’s just beginning to notice.

“It just is,” he replies, simplistically, avoiding her icy stare.

Scully laughs quietly, enraged. “I can’t believe this,” she says. “Then what am I doing here?” She waits, but doesn’t expect an answer. “You know, Mulder, this might be your work, your crusade, your search for the truth, but I left everything. My whole life –"

“I know!” he interrupts, muttering under his breath.

“Right,” she says, close to tears now, although, if she can help it, she won’t let him see. “It’s my life too, Mulder.”

He’s silent. He stares at the floor, still sullen, still cold.

“Fine,” she says and goes to retrieve her jacket from the closet.

“Don’t you think I know?” he calls, as she reaches the front door.

She won’t let herself be affected by him. She will shut him out, just as he had done to her. She pushes her arm through a sleeve and looks at him, unflinching, as she waits for him to finish.

“I know how much you’ve given up. I know how much has been taken from you.” His voice is steeped in urgency now and he stands by the door, blocking her escape. “I blame myself every day for what you’ve had to go through, all for me.”

Her eyes search his. They’re sad, desperate eyes. But they’re also confused eyes. It wasn’t all for him. It was for her, too. She doesn’t know what more she can say to convince him.

“The only thing I can do is protect you from further harm,” he says, his voice rising in volume. “That’s the only thing in my power.” He pauses, and she can see the pain behind his rage. “And I couldn’t do that, this time. Because you wouldn’t let me.”

Scully sighs, feeling her eyes burn, as they become receptacles for her hot, unrelenting tears. _Power. Protect. All for me._ The words mingle in her brain, concocting a sickeningly potent drug. “ _You’re drawn to powerful men, but you fear their power.” I can’t do this anymore,_ she thinks.

“Well,” she says, surprised at the steadiness in her voice. “I think that…” Her voice trails off as she considers how to deliver her next line. She reaches for the doorknob, preparing to make her exit.

“Mulder, I don’t need you to protect me.”

 

XXX

 

Her words had stung, but he knew they were justified. He had never meant to suggest that she was weak, or that she required his protection. He knows that he sometimes takes her loyalty for granted _._ But if she really doesn’t want to be here, he reasons, then she has no business putting her life in danger. _She should just leave. Please don’t leave, Scully._

He wonders at which point it all began to disintegrate. At the beginning of year, everything had been falling into place. They had been closer than ever before _. Then what happened? Missed moments, that’s what._

He thought he’d try to make amends. Two tickets to England – who doesn’t love crop circles? Scully, apparently, but he didn’t expect her to lash-out like that.

Another missed moment. He could have apologized. Offered to talk it out. Taken her for a midday stroll and told her that the sun only dies every night so that the moon can live. But that sounds a bit egotistical, now that he considers it. In any case, the spring is grey and dreary. It’s hard to see anything up in the sky.

Skies like these are for those who are afraid to believe.

Indignant, he goes to England, alone. In the end, though, she was right. There was no event. No crop circles. As he examines his return ticket, he admits that, on some level, he knew there would be nothing worthy of excitement – that is, unless she were there, at his side, looking for crop circles but finding entire universes. None of this made sense without her.

 

XXX

 

 _“You’re drawn to powerful men, but you fear their power.”_ Daniel. Seeing him again, she had felt like a little girl at his bedside. She’d longed for that comfort, that warmth, that security, but now, it feels strangely oppressive to her. Ten years later, she doesn’t recognize the woman she once was. She had been trapped. Mulder had freed her.

Mulder. He was her equal, her friend, her “one in five billion.” The only thing suffocating about their relationship was the unnecessary strain they had placed on it, lately. _Too many missed moments_. Stop. Take pause. Just be.

Together, they sit on his leather couch, side by side, in his apartment. He’s so happy to see her. Almost giddy. One would think he’d been away for months, rather than a mere few days. She tries to fathom the possibility of never having met him, as she never would have, had she’d stayed with Daniel. Did this mean that she’d made all the right choices? Where were the signs along the way? Deep in contemplation, her eyelids begin to close.

She hears his voice, as she slips in and out of consciousness. It’s warm and safe and loving, but most of all, it‘s liberating. It lulls her to sleep.

 

XXX

 

She wakes, still dreaming. The room is dark, save for the blue-green glow of the fish tank in her periphery. She remembers where she is.

 _Mulder_. She looks around, but he is nowhere in sight. Slowly, she sits up, letting a blanket fall to floor. She pats down her hair, as best she can, but she can still feel it sticking out in places.

She pauses and listens. She hears a faint rustling coming from the bedroom. In the partial darkness, she walks towards the doorway. As she gets closer, she sees a dim light emanating from what must be a bedside lamp. Mulder is still awake, dressed for sleep, shirtless, wearing his beige pajama bottoms and engrossed in his late-night reading. He was about to catch her staring.

He looks up from his book.

“Hey,” he says, a smile breaking across his face.

“Hey,” she echoes. His smile is infectious, but as soon as it claims her, she bows her head to the floor, chuckling lightly with self-consciousness. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” he confirms, checking the clock on the nightstand. It reads 11:21.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, putting down his reading material as he gets up from the bed and makes his way over to her. “You’re not going home, are you?’

“Yeah, I…”

“Don’t,” he cuts-in. “It’s late. You can stay here. You can have the bed.” He passes by her, into the other room, and she’s left standing in the doorway, feeling suspended in space.

He returns shortly, carrying the wool blanket she’d left behind and some extra pillows. Her restful state seems to have heightened her sensorial response and when he brushes past her, she shivers, instinctively, rubbing her arms.

“You cold?” he notices. She shakes her head, dropping her arms and leaning against the wooden doorframe, which might as well be holding her up. “Come,” he says, motioning her to the bed.

“Mulder, you don’t have to…”

“Hey, you’ve had a big week.”

She laughs quietly and takes a seat on the mattress as he busies himself with the pillows. _You spoke to God in a Buddhist temple and God spoke back._ She remembers their earlier conversation. She’d never said that God spoke back.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

He straightens the pillowcase and sits down beside her. “You know, the visions, the divine encounter. Not to mention, this guy was the great love of your life, right? Having that person show up again….” He chuckles, even though his eyes appear sad to her. “That’s exhausting for anyone. Even you,” he says, with a wink. A weak attempt to mask his disappointment with humor.

She looks deep into his eyes, which seem to be searching and she is suddenly overcome with a feeling that she knows all too well, but that which, for the past seven years, she’d been able to quell before it engulfed her, whole, as it was doing now. Submerged for the first time, she is surprised to learn that she can still breathe. Still see. Still be.  _Mulder, don’t you know who you are to me?_ She smiles at him, tenderly.

“I guess that’s true,” she begins, shocked by the tranquility in her voice. “I saw things I’d never been open to seeing before. It was exhausting.” She reaches out to playfully poke his shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it,” she teases.

He laughs quietly and avoids her gaze. “You know I don’t need sleep.”

“Yeah, I do,” she concedes. She takes a deep breath, letting it permeate her nerves. “But,” she continues, lowering her voice as though revealing a secret that only he could know, “As usual, you’re only half-right.”

He looks up at her, enjoying her midnight-hour sense of humor. “It wasn’t a spaceship, after all?” he plays.

“No,” she replies, puckering at the thought. She has no idea where this is going but she figures that, for once, it may be best not to plan. “And not only that,” she continues, hurtling down a one-way street. “But as for Daniel being the great love of my life, I think the facts prove that he could never be more than a distant second.”

Such simple words and yet, there it was. The truth is out there, between them, in the semi-darkness and through it, she turns to face the great love of her life.

His eyes are wide like the flying saucers in his collection of doctored photographs and she doesn’t need an expert to determine that she has stunned him. “Mulder…” she utters, realizing, now, what she has done. With fear creeping in, she reaches out for him, staring intently at her fingers as they cup the top of his hand. “Mulder, I –“

“And what facts are those, Agent Scully?” His voice is barely above a whisper. She looks up in surprise, her eyes meeting his.

Emboldened, if only for a split-second, she leans forward and kisses him lightly on the lips, just as they had done, only a few months before, to ring in the new millennium. The world hadn’t ended then, and it wouldn’t tonight. She still feels like she’s dreaming.

 _“What do you want, Scully?”_ she hears and her eyes pop open. Did he speak just now, or was it just her imagination? She’d heard that very same question, just yesterday, posed by Daniel, as she sat by his hospital bed. Time stands still. Her heart is beating like a drum.

“Stay with me tonight,” she answers, even if it is an answer to a question he didn’t ask. _A dream is an answer to a question we haven't yet figured out how to ask. Please don’t let this be a dream._

He nods and resumes their kiss from moments ago. His hands seek her, as they have done many times before, but for the first time, his touch travels lower, deeper, seeking her in ways she’s never been found. She intensifies the kiss, exploring his mouth and pausing only to inhale. Her own hands grip his forearms, as he pushes her backwards onto the bed.

“Mulder,” she manages.

“I’m sorry, I’m moving too fast,” he mumbles.

The laugh she lets out is joyful and uninhibited. He too, sees the absurdity of his statement and smiles. Seven years too fast.

She props herself up on her elbows. “I don’t know why it has never been the right time,” she says, contemplating each word as it passes through her lips. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Mulder.”

He lets her admission sink in and she’s sure she can see his eyes glistening, but, true to form, he doesn’t falter. “I’m sure I beat you to it,” he says, with a light smile, tweaking the lock of hair that has fallen loose across her cheek. “I’ve loved you since the day you walked into my office.”

She raises an eyebrow, trying to hide her delight.

“Well, okay,” he grants, although his voice still jests. “Maybe since the night you walked into my motel room and dropped your robe for me.”

“Ah ha,” she says, lifting herself up and sliding down her blazer, which she lays down beside them. Watching him watch her, she grips the hem of her shirt and pulls it high above her head. She stands, pulling down the zipper and letting her skirt fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she leans into him, wearing only her black lace bra and pantyhose. She remembers the night he is referring to, if only because it had stuck in her mind for many months afterwards, as she chased him around on wild pursuits, drawn to this man who seemed to humor her naivety, even as she continued to embarrass herself, as she had that night in the motel room. Now, she knows that he needed her, as much as she needed him, and she recalls their first case together with a certain fondness. She wonders how much he remembers of their early days together.

“I want you to look at something,” she whispers. His knowing expression tells her that he remembers every minute.

She reaches back to unhook her bra and lets it slip off of her shoulders. He’s quiet now, watching her as she rubs her hands up his thighs, lifting herself up until she is sitting on top of him. Straddling his lap, she can feel him hardening through the fabric of his pants. His arms wind around her waist, pulling her closer to his erection as he brushes his lips against her neck and collarbone. Inching downwards, he leaves a trail of sensation, as her damp skin cools in his wake. When he reaches her breasts, his stubble scrapes against the tender skin as he suckles hard on one nipple and kneads the other in the palm of his hand.

She gasps, suddenly, and he pauses, lifting his chin to motion for a kiss. As she lowers to meet him, she combs her fingers through his hair, thinking she could stay in this moment forever, making-up for seven years of missed kisses. She seriously considers the idea, briefly, until his tongue slides into her mouth, sending a rush of warmth throughout her limbs and settling in that place between her thighs. Maybe they can make up for seven years of missed kisses another time. As if sensing her growing impatience, or perhaps motivated by his own, he gently lifts her up and lays her down on the bed.

He peels away her pantyhose, caressing her soft white skin, revealing it inch by inch. It’s so quiet, as though neither of them will speak for the dread of awakening from this impossible moment. She takes in slow, deep breaths and closes her eyes, feeling his hands as they move up her bare leg. When he gets to her panties, she draws in, sharply, opening her eyes to watch him as he carefully pushes the fabric aside. He meets her gaze and leans in closer, speaking, without words, in the way that they’d long ago grown accustomed to doing. How they could read one another so effortlessly, and yet, remain isolated and alone, was a greater mystery than any they had investigated in their time together. Now, his eyes delve into hers, never once breaking contact, as his fingers search between her legs, gently exploring her depths as she writhes beneath him.

Scully can’t remember a time when she felt more vulnerable, more exposed. To give herself over, to rest her composure, literally, in the hands of a male-coworker – that was something she’d left behind, when she’d joined the FBI. But, with Mulder, it was different and it always had been, although she’d only recently confronted that truth. Mulder had bared his soul – his pains, his past, his out-there theories and his unwavering beliefs – from day one. She always knew that she could trust him with her life, as she’d once admitted, out-loud, in one of her sporadic counseling sessions. This was the last barrier and as his fingers penetrate deeper, she feels that barrier disintegrate into the darkness, and under this newfound lightness, her body departs for its ascent.

She lifts her hips so that he can remove her panties completely. A jolt of new sensation hits her, when his head moves between her thighs and he kisses her there, licking her clit as his wet lips suction themselves to her delicate skin. She cries out, watching him passionately devour her.

His tongue feels warm against her skin. When he exhales, his breath cascades across her damp flesh, sending quivers throughout her body. With one hand, she reaches down and tangles her fingers in his hair, stroking his scalp as he laps at her. She’s so wet that when he pushes two fingers inside of her, this time, she can barely feel any of the painful friction she had been worried about, after not being with anyone for several years. On the contrary, the pain she feels, now, is an emptiness, and she yearns to have him fill it.

“Mulder,” she breathes, barely getting her words out. She doesn’t want him to stop what he’s doing, but at the same time, the ache inside of her is becoming too strong to bear. He looks up, but he continues to gently fondle her with his fingers until she places her hand on top of his. He immediately stops, concerned.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “It’s good. It’s so good.” She lowers her voice, as though she were disclosing the most highly confidential information.  “I just want to have you inside of me. I want to be close to you. I don’t want to wait any longer.” She sounds pleading, she notes, silently rebuking herself for what must come-off as pathetic desperation, but he only nods, nuzzling his face into her lap and finishing his handiwork with a kiss on her belly.

He gets up from the bed and swiftly removes his bottoms, hurling them into a heap on the floor. Her eyes trace his tall, strong silhouette, lit by the moonlight through the blinds behind him and she can see that he is fully erect. He rejoins her on the bed, gazing at her naked body beneath him. He begins to touch her, everywhere.

“I love every part of you,” he muses, scattering kisses along her neck, her arms, her hands. “I love your hands, your heart, your lips…” His voice fades out as his lips gently caress every part he mentions, landing, finally, on her mouth. She can feel the familiar tightening of her throat muscles, prophesizing the tears that should fall, any minute now. Instinctively, she bites her bottom lip to keep from crying, as he moves up to her forehead and kisses her there, as he had, so many times before. “And I love your mind,” he murmurs into her brow.

A tear escapes its constraints and trickles downward, alongside her nose. Released from its prison, just like her. She inhales, shakily. She’s so overwhelmed with emotion that she can’t bring herself to do anything but lay still, as he showers her with worship.

She closes her eyes and the rest of her hot tears overflow onto her cheeks. She can feel his thumb wipe them away, his breath against her cheek and the warmth radiating off his skin, only inches away. She can feel him as he finds her entrance and pushes inside of her, hearing his low groan as he molds himself into her. She gasps at the sensation, opening her eyes to see his shadowy form moving above her, consumed with heady desire. He rocks back and forth, his eyes fixated on her, the entire time.

“Scully,” he moans, his voice so low she can barely make-out her name.

He guides himself in and out, burrowing himself deeper and deeper. Every time he pulls away, she tugs at his waist, unable to endure any amount of distance between them. She props herself up and reaches for his face. “Mulder,” she implores, breathlessly, as she sits up, to meet him halfway, with a kiss.

He pushes her back down to bed and embraces her, passionately, as his thrusts quicken. Encircling her arms around his back, she raises her hips slightly and brings her knees higher, wrapping her legs around his hips. His skin is covered in a layer of sweat and she can feel his slick muscles clench, as they strain against her. With his hands running through her hair, his mouth joins hers and she can feel them buzzing as their individual moans, sighs and cries harmonize between their lips.

He stops briefly and readjusts his position. His eyes are dark and wild and they send a surge of anticipation rippling throughout her body. Suddenly, he begins to drive into her with so much intensity that it, momentarily, catches her off-guard. She cries out, with every thrust, watching him in his fervent haste. As much as she had fantasized that their first time would last forever, it feels too good, now, to hold back any longer.  

“Oh, God!” she calls, “Mulder, yes, yes, yes…” Her incantations start off strong, but quickly turn to gibberish as she begins to climax. Tremors take over her body as he continues to shove in and out, her walls clamping down on him as the room goes black.

She regains partial consciousness only when he yells out her name, ramming her hard as he comes, spilling into her and collapsing onto her heaving chest.

They don’t move for several minutes afterwards. He rests on top of her, as their breathing slows and then, abruptly, as though suddenly conscious of his relative weight, he rolls off of her, mumbling apologies, even though she had yet to feel any sense of physical burden. As the cool night air sweeps across her skin, she immediately misses the contact, even though he’s still close enough to touch.

Sensing her dismay, he drags her to him, spooning her, and pulling up the sheets. She sighs, contentedly, as he digs his face into the crook of her neck.

“Dana,” he calls through the darkness.

She giggles at the name. “Mulder…” she whines. “Don’t.”

“Dana,” he teases, kissing her behind her ear.

“You don’t have to call me that, just because we’ve had sex,” she assures him. “Besides, I like it when you call me Scully.” It was ironic, now that she considered it. He’d called her by her last name, initially, for the sake of professionalism, but somehow, over the years, her last name had become an affectionate moniker, used only by him. There was an intimacy there, and she doesn’t want to lose it.

As if reading her mind, he says, “Don’t worry, you’ll always be my Scully.” He rubs her shoulder and murmurs into her hair. “There’s a part of you, though, that I never got to know before. A mystery that I could never solve. It’s so beautiful, it need a name.”

She sighs and nestles into his stomach. He wraps his arm around her and his hand finds hers, clasping it against her heartbeat.

“Dana,” he whispers and she smiles and drifts off into sleep.

 

XXX

 

They go nearly all day without speaking of the night before. She had left before dawn, as he suspected she would, but nevertheless, he’d woken up in a panic. To make his anxiety all the more severe, she had come in to work early and was deep in follow-up reports by the time he’d arrived. They’d missed having lunch together… she ran to do some errands… they didn’t go for coffee. At their meeting with Skinner, she was business as usual. He succumbs to a sinking feeling of dread, when he considers the possibility of her wishing the night had never happened. Rationally, he knows its ridiculous, but he’s insecure, all the same. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to call her “Dana.”

Scully opens the door, laying down her grocery bags and a stack of papers. “Sorry I missed lunch, “ she says, arranging her work into neat piles on the desk.

“That’s okay,” he says, nonchalantly. “You get what you needed?”

“Yeah,” she replies, barely looking up, “I should be almost done here.” She places each pile into manila folders and sets them aside. His heart begins to drop, but then – “Do you want to come over tomorrow night?”

He nearly falls off his chair.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” he stammers when she looks up at him and smiles warmly. _Why had I been so worried?_ “That would be –“

“Perfect!” she finishes for him. She prepares to leave and for some reason, he tries to follow her. This time, he actually falls off his chair, catching himself before he hits the ground. He picks up her bags and almost immediately, one breaks and its contents spill all over the floor.

“Thanks,” she says, badly hiding her amusement.  

He nods, foolishly, knowing how farcical he must appear right now. He crouches down to pick up the bruised apples that are strewn around the office. She doesn’t move to help him. He glances up to see her face red and her eyes glistening. She’s about to lapse into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“Oh, it’s funny, is it?” He reaches for an apple that has rolled under the desk, but he gets stuck on his way back. _The Fall of Man_. He can hear her laughing now. A beautiful, rare Scully laugh. In spite of his embarrassment, he can’t help but adore her. Finally, she kneels down beside him and helps him out.

“I’m sorry,” she says, grinning. “I’m sorry to laugh at you. I’m overtired.”

“Had a rough night?” he asks, with a smirk.

“More like a really good one,” she whispers, leaning in close and sending his cock into high alert. She kisses him on the cheek and takes the apple from his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven?” she asks.

“Seven,” he agrees, staying sprawled on the floor while he watches her gather her things and head out the door. As usual, she was better off without his help.

After she leaves, he grips the edge of his desk, pulling himself up. He’s feeling a bit sore, but whether from the tumble or from last night, he isn’t quite sure. He looks down to see his dress pants tenting from her innuendo. He groans, sitting down and instinctively reaching for the drawer that Scully almost never looks in. He stops and reconsiders. Then, he unzips his pants and lies back in his office chair, hearing her sultry voice, as his mind replays the events of the night before, in vivid detail.

 

XXX

 

“Mulder!” Scully gasps, “Mulder, yes!” The mattress bounces up and down as he pounds into her. They’d barely made it to the bed. She’s reclining on the edge, while he stands, shoveling everything he has into her tight little body. She lifts her legs higher to deepen his thrusts, but he keeps slipping out. He wonders if she has ever been this wet before and hopes that the answer is no. Every time he rams into her, she cries out his name and in return, he presses her knees up against her chest, yearning to be close to her in a way that is probably humanly impossible. The time is 7:08. He’d been at her place for less than ten minutes.

With her legs held up between them, she watches as his cock moves in and out of her. “Oh, Mulder. I’m so close,” she sighs, and he picks-up his pace, increasing his speed until, to his immense frustration, he slips out again. He groans, pushing her farther down the bed and climbing on top of her, so that she’s pinned between him and the mattress. His cock coaxes her entrance, fumbling for a bit, hindered by the sopping mess they’d made earlier. Every time he so much as skims against her folds, she makes the most irresistible mewling sounds and it’s rendering him practically useless. Finally, she opens for him, guiding him with her hands as he descends, steadily, into her depths. Slower now, he grinds, wrapping his arms under her knees and lifting her legs high so that they rest on his shoulders.

“Feels so good, Scully,” he moans in-between thrusts. He’s stretching her so far, he worries how well she can handle him inside of her and he pauses for a moment to search her expression for any sign of distress. Scully makes eye contact briefly, but then lets her lids close, moaning in approval. That was all he needed. He runs his hands up and down her thighs as he pushes in and out, slow and rhythmic. Dipping his head down, he kisses her parted lips as they breathe out his name, over and over, like his favorite broken record.

“Mulder, Mulder, Mulder,” she chants, in between kisses. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink and her lips stained red from all the attention they’ve been getting. Her hair, dampened from perspiration, is a dark shade of burgundy, curling gently around her beautiful face.

“You’re so beautiful, Scully,” he pants, and although she doesn’t open her eyes, she smiles and lets out a wispy laugh.

“You’re going to break me in half, Mulder,” she teases and he lets her legs fall to the bed, around him. He leans back, taking in the sight of her.

“I want to make you come, Scully,” he growls, rubbing his palm over her clit, as he resumes his slow thrusts. “You’re so sexy. I want to make you come.”

Scully whimpers, raising her hips to press her pelvis into his hand as he slides in and out. His gaze remains glued on her as she impulsively clutches her breast, gripping harder as she begins to tense. She’s meeting his thrusts now, becoming increasingly insistent. He watches the way she purses her lips, and the way she squeezes her nipple between her French manicured fingers tips. Her other hand reaches down to guide his cock, ensuring that it stays right where she wants it. The sight of her, fully enraptured, is enough to bring him to a sudden climax, but he tries his best to hang-on, so that he can watch her in all of her glory.

“More, Mulder,” she murmurs and he takes that as his cue. Accelerating, he pushes in and out, as she thrashes beneath him, tearing at the sheets as though they were the last things tethering her to the Earth’s surface. “More, more, more,” she repeats until he’s pummeling into her so fast, he can barely hear her requests over the springs squeaking below them. “Yes!” she shrieks, losing control and falling back on top of the mattress. He reaches out to hold her as her languid body succumbs to waves of ecstasy. As she regains her equanimity, he kisses her forehead and both of her eyelids.

She opens her eyes as he pulls out. He’s still hard as a rock. He’ll need to take care of that, he thinks, since he’s sure she’ll be too exhausted. In any case, he decides, it was worth it just to watch her.

He leans back against the pillows, taking her with him to rest against his shoulder. She has other plans, however.

“Oh, Mulder, we’re not done yet,” she says, kissing him gently and reaching down to take him in her hand.

“I love you,” he groans, trying not to sound too relieved. Her hand moves up and down as her sweet laugh fills his mouth.

“That was some good fucking, Mulder.”

He inhales, sharply, pleasantly shocked by the language of his typically demure partner. It’s clear from her expression that she had hoped to disarm him and now, the satisfaction of her success plays across her face. She gives him a titillating squeeze and delivers her next stunner. “I wonder if we tasted as good.” His cock nearly jumps in her hand. She grins and crawls down to his lap. In silent disbelief, he watches her as she takes him in her mouth – sucking him all the way down his shaft and then twirling her tongue around the tip, while her hands work his length.

She looks up from her ministrations to see that he’s watching her, attentively. She takes one hand and brings it down between her legs, still wet from moments before. She continues to suck on him, while she draws circles around her clit, humming sounds of pleasure, and producing vibrations in her throat that pulsate around his cock.

His hands thread through her hair, tugging gently and poorly resisting the urge to pull her down on him. Sensing his compulsion, she glances up at his face, smirking as she rises up to kiss his lips. She knows she’s killing him, but she’s so gorgeous, he would let her kill him any day of the week. Her one hand still works him, gliding up and down with a casual rhythm that makes him crazy.

“How you holding out, Mulder?” she asks, swinging one leg around to straddle him. He only groans in impatience. Lifting herself above him, she parts her folds, still slick from her orgasm moments earlier, and lowers herself on top of him. She begins to ride him, her hands rubbing against his abdomen and then up her own body as she gains speed. Watching her pleasure herself, alone, would be enough to send him soaring, but being inside of her makes the inevitability all the more imminent. He grabs her backside, urging her on, faster and faster, until she, eventually, relinquishes control. The only thing keeping her in place is his firm, unrelenting grip, piloting her whole body up and down his shaft. Furiously he moves, watching her shake in abandonment, her hair sweeping across her face and her small perfect breasts bobbing as she clutches one in her hand, leaving it pink beneath her fingers. Even though he’s been on the edge for what seems like an eternity, it isn’t until he realizes that she’s about to have her second, that he finally reaches his tipping point.

“Yes,” she gasps as a dark blush sweeps across her chest and up to her face. She closes her eyes as he can feel her walls spasm around him. He’s right there with her, this time, shouting her name so loud, he’s sure all the neighbors can hear.

They’re soaking wet. The time is now 7:31, he confirms, checking the digital clock radio.

 

XXX

 

She rolls off him, catching her breath as she lays her head against the pillow beside him. The outfit she’d deliberated over for nearly an hour is scattered, haphazardly, around the bedroom. Her mascara is smudged in smoky rivers around her eyes. Some of her lipstick is now stamped across Mulder’s torso, not to mention other, more conspicuous, areas.

“Dinner, soon?” she asks him and he nods, catching his own breath. “I’m going to take a shower.” He nods again, staring straight ahead, as though reeling from shock. She gets up and walks towards the door, gathering her clothes on her way out. At the bathroom, she calls out, “You’re coming, right?”

“Yup,” he says quickly, shattering through his trance. Within seconds, he has joined her in the bathroom. He hugs her from behind, hindering her movement as she reaches for the faucet.

“Mulder,” she whines, giggling as he plants a rough smooch on her temple. She turns the water on and lets it run, as he lightly tickles her ribcage. She laughs some more, but of course, it only encourages him and when she’s good and distracted, he grabs the removable showerhead and twists it so that it streams right into her face. She squeals and twists it back, attempting to extricate herself from his stronghold.

“Oops! Sorry, Scully,” he says, although his gleeful grin betrays his true intentions. She gives him a whack as he releases her, but she still lets him follow her into the shower, barely resisting when he puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses her under the spray.  She remembers that cold, wet night, seven years ago, when he told her that time had disappeared. She’d stared at him through sheets of rainfall, arguing with him in disbelief. Now, she knows that time can disappear, but never again will she allow it. She wants to make this, and every moment, last.

He runs his hand through her wet hair, pulling it back from her face and kissing her dewy pink cheeks. She works a bar of soap into a lather and begins massaging the foam onto her body. He watches for a moment and then takes over, his soapy hands rubbing gently over her skin and then letting the suds drizzle down her curves and into the mist.

“Smells like you,” he murmurs, breathing in the light flowery-scented haze. “If you come into the office smelling like this, now, how am I ever going to get any work done?”

 

XXX

 

Something pointy is digging into her back. Scully reaches back to discard the culprit and a stack of poorly assembled books tumble off the back of the cabinet.  At least she has more room to move now, she thinks, reclining on top of the table. She looks back to see that, from his view, she’s practically framed by his “I Want to Believe” poster. The concept amuses her, for some reason.

Her grey pencil skirt is bunched up around her waist and her panties are lying, forlorn, on the other side of the room, where he had tossed them, earlier, in his frenzy. Mulder is fully clothed, save for his engorged cock, which protrudes out from unzipped trousers.

He yanks at her splayed-open thighs, pulling her close to him. She feels his tip nudge against her entrance but she keeps falling out of his range. She braces herself against the wall, supporting her weight against a nearby shelf, and lets him firmly grip her hips as he pushes himself into her.

“Mmm, God, yes!” she moans, looking up to the ceiling and for a moment, she wonders if they can hear her through the vents. She tries to remember if she locked the door on her way in. He thrusts again, harder this time. She cries out a second time, and before long, she ceases to care as to who might be listening.

They said they’d never bring it to work, but a quiet Thursday and a spirited wrestle over a file folder and one thing had led to another. It wouldn’t take long, she assured herself. If he was anything like her, he’d been ready to go all week. No conventional foreplay was necessary, with them. Just a few hours of field reports on deadly tobacco beetles, interspersed with the usual tales of UFO sightings in some desert town and her own classic debunking factoids, would be enough. Even their usual back-and-forth was all that was needed to get her hot and bothered, nowadays.

His thrusts are becoming more frantic now. Every time he fills her, it sends pulsating waves of pleasure throughout her body and it’s getting more difficult to hold herself upright. Her arms feel like jelly and it’s all she can do to keep from melting into a puddle on the floor.

He pulls out suddenly and she represses a whimper. His cock is dark and slick with her wetness and she shuts her eyes tight, so as to prevent herself from coming at the sight. In one motion, he spins her around so that her back is to him. Her eyes snap open and she gasps at his force.

Bending her at the waist, with her feet barely touching the ground, even in her four-inch heels, he kneads her buttocks, pulling at her cheeks. He’s raring to go, but he quickly prepares her, probing her damp folds and exposing them to the cool air of their basement office.

“This okay, Scully?” he whispers into her ear.

“I always knew there was a reason we kept all this old junk down here,” she replies, dryly, propping herself up against the table, and tilting her body forward to give him unlimited access. They chuckle breathlessly as they revel in their new, shared use for the second-hand office furniture that had cluttered their workspace for the past however many years. She reaches back, spreading her legs so he can find her and as soon as he does, he begins hammering into her. She cries out his name so loud, they could probably hear her at reception.

“So good, Scully,” he breathes as his pelvis crashes repeatedly against her backside. His cock bumps against a spot inside of her that makes her feel as though she could explode. She’s so wet now, she thinks she can feel droplets inching down her thighs. There is a pressure building deep inside her, emanating from her lower abdomen and threatening to burst every time he fills her. It’s so intense that she’s lost control of her vocal chords and she bites the fabric of her sleeve, so as to muffle the sounds that come out of her.

She feels a hand gently tug on her hair. She releases her sleeve and turns partway to look at him. He kisses the side of her mouth, momentarily subduing her sobs. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his taut muscles begin to contort and she watches, dazed, as he gears up for the end of the race. He slams into her faster, once again hitting that spot inside of her, vigorously pumping her until she can’t contain it any longer. She feels the urge to push down, hard, around him and as she does, she begins to liquefy, gushing from her center and drenching their bodies where they are joined.

“Mulder!” she shouts, as deep-rooted convulsions start at her core and ripple throughout her body. He gives a few final thrusts and empties himself into her, groaning an incomprehensible word that sounds vaguely like her name. She continues to come as he finishes. The currents, within her, slowly subside, as she stays, motionless, trapped between him and the table.

When he finally pulls out and takes a step back, he keeps his arm in place to steady her, as she regains her footing. They don’t speak. They only smile at each other, bashful but sated, as they wipe themselves down and readjust their clothes. She’s running her hand through a tousled lock of hair when, suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Her hand freezes at the implications.

“Agents.” It’s Skinner. They look at each other, reading each other’s thoughts. _How long had he been outside?_ Even if he’d reached the door only now, he, no doubt, would have heard them from the elevator.

Mulder composes himself and casually answers the door, opening it only wide enough so that the two men could face one another. “Skinman!” he greets, with a casual manner that Scully can’t believe he is able to muster.

“Mulder,” Scully hears her supervisor say, “Where’s Agent Scully?”

“She’s here, Sir,” Mulder says, opening the door a bit more, as Skinner leans his head past him. Scully waves awkwardly, fully aware that she must appear to be standing in the midst of a disaster zone. Books, binders and random knickknacks are strewn all around. Skinner beholds the scene, quizzically, as a loose sheet of paper gently glides off the shelf behind her and then floats, gracefully, to the floor.

“Can I help you, Sir?” she asks, trying to mimic Mulder’s cool countenance.

Skinner clears his throat. “No, actually, I just wanted to make sure the both of you were coming to the premiere next week. All expenses paid. It’d really mean a lot to Wayne. And to me, of course.”

The premiere. She’d almost forgotten that Skinner’s old college buddy had made a movie based on her and Mulder and their work on the X-Files. To be fair, she probably had willed herself into forgetting.

“We will be there, Skinman,” Mulder says, lightly. She tenses-up at Mulder’s flippant choice of language. Skinner surely must have some clue as to what they’d been to, moments before he’d arrived. _It wouldn’t kill Mulder to not push his luck for once_ , she grumbles inwardly.

“Great,” Skinner says, turning to leave. Relieved, Scully exhales, finally. But just as she thinks they’re safe, Skinner suddenly halts and looks around. “What happened here?” he asks. Scully’s breath catches in her throat. She watches his eyes as they catch something beige and shiny, nearly camouflaged against the flooring. Her underwear. Her face is on fire.

Mulder follows his gaze. “Oh this?” he asks. “Scully was just doing some spring cleaning.”

Skinner looks skeptical but nods. “Alright then,” he replies. He seems ever so slightly embarrassed, but maybe she’s misreading his demeanor. Again, he turns to leave.

“Oh and agents,” he says, looking back at them, as she tries to maintain her calm exterior. “I’ve booked you separate rooms. I expect that won’t be a problem.”

She wonders just how low her jaw is hanging. Neither of them responds to his insinuation, although, out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she can make-out a smirk on Mulder’s face. She wants to smack him. And even as Skinner walks away, his back to them, she’s convinced that she can see him grinning. She could smack him too.

 

XXX

 

“They’re going to split us up,” Scully insists, yelling from the bathroom.

Mulder gives his bow tie another go. “I can think of hundreds of reasons why they’re going to split us up,” he agrees, noncommittally. “You and I sleeping together does not rank that high on the list.” He gives up on his tie and tosses it against the vanity.

“It would be a good excuse, though,” Scully says, emerging from the bathroom in a white cotton robe. She smells like vanilla and rose petals. Retrieving the tie from its resting place, she swiftly secures it around his neck. She continues on. “I would have expected you to be more concerned.”

Mulder watches as she takes off her robe, revealing her black satin underclothes. If he was to be honest with her, he would have to admit that, yes, he was worried they’d split them up too. He’s sure it’s against policy and besides that, rules or no rules, the Bureau was always looking for ways to divide the two of them. They know that, without her, he’s done and that’s exactly what they have wanted, since day one. He chuckles, wondering if maybe that’s why they sent him such an attractive spy in the first place – to get him good and distracted until the X-Files was the last thing he hoped to use that basement office for. His eyes wander to her panties and he remembers hiding a pair, just like them, in a desk drawer where they’d be of better use. On her, they merely provided another obstacle.

“Mulder,” he hears, and she’s looking at him, expectantly.

“Hmm?” Speaking of distractions.

“What’s so funny?” she demands, setting a headband into her freshly brushed hair.

He hardly expects her to find his thoughts amusing. “Skinner,” he says. “Skinner is the only one that knows.”

“Great,” she says, sarcastically, before moving back into the bathroom.

“Oh, come on, Scully. He probably thinks we’ve been doing it all along.” No response. “He’s probably wondering why we’re being so weird about it all of the sudden.” He opens the mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle, examining the label and jumping when he sees the price.

“Why would he think that?”

 _Why would he think that? I don’t know, because I’m horny and you’re hot?_ “Because… because you’re…. I’m….” His voice trails off as he searches for the most tactful way to finish the sentence. He looks up and she’s standing in a little black dress that hangs loosely off her back. She is breathtaking.

“Zip me up?” she asks.

He’s been rendered speechless and so, he merely nods and walks up behind her. His fingers find the zipper and they gently tug, caressing her bare skin as the dress tightens around the contours of her delicate form. He places her hands on top of her shoulders and smiles at her through the mirror. She smiles back and he can feel her tension dissolve beneath his touch. He breathes her in – all of her vanilla and rose petals – sweeping his lips against her collarbone.

He knows she’s worried about the FBI knowing about them, but sometimes he wishes the whole world would know.

 

XXX

 

Scully could have been more horrified. Although not by much.

“That’s it, Scully. I can’t take it anymore!” He wants everyone to hear.

“Shhh, Mulder, sit down!” Earlier that day, he had acted like he didn’t care if the whole world had found out about them. She wonders if, perhaps, he’d been secretly enjoying the film until on-screen Scully had declared her love for Assistant Director Skinner. Even though she’s somewhat mortified, herself, she’s not hoping to make this any more of a spectacle than it already is. Besides that, his ostentatious behavior seems a bit territorial. She rolls her eyes, as he storms out of the theatre.

Mulder had been right. Skinner knew and he didn’t care. She smiles weakly at him, from her seat. Through the flickering light of the cinema, his guilty expression is telling – not only did he not he care, but he was now capitalizing on their relationship. Although, if she had to guess, she would say that this film would not yield much of a profit, when all was said and done.

She watches as Mulder and Scully fumble awkwardly inside their coffin. It’s so bad that it’s not worth getting worked-up over. Still, she feels supremely uncomfortable greeting her supervisor at the after-party.

“Agent Scully!” Skinner calls out to her. He has a young blonde on one arm and a drink in the other. “What’d you think?” he asks, releasing the blonde and giving Scully an all too exuberant slap on the shoulder.

“Great,” she lies. A server comes around to offer her a drink. She accepts a glass of chardonnay and nearly downs it in one gulp.

“Where’s Mulder?” Skinner asks, scanning the area around her, as if she possessed the ability to manifest him, at will, from thin air. He lowers his voice and leans-in close – so close, she can smell the six glasses of wine on his breath. “Listen, I hope he didn’t mind…”

He winks at her and she responds with a hurried nod, hoping it will prevent him from saying more.

No such luck. “I mean. If anything, we did you a favor. It’s one thing for an agent to have a secret attraction to her supervisor.” He glances at the women behind him and adds, for their benefit, “Happens all the time, actually.”

The women giggle and she tries to give her most convincing fake laugh. Only a cough comes out.

“But partners,” he goes on. “Especially, the two of you. They’ll never let it happen. You guys need to be more careful. No more boom-boom in the basement.”

Scully chokes on her last sip of wine, just as the waiter arrives to retrieve her empty glass. “Thank you,” she mouths, as she places it on the tray.

“I suggested to Wayne that it might be a good idea to play down the sexual tension between the two of you and this is what he comes up with,” he says with a hoot. “Always believed in his genius.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she says, hoping to close down the topic. “That’s very thoughtful.” It’s time to make her exit.

“Oh, hey, Scully,” he says and she freezes, feeling queasy _._ She guesses it was also his idea to script the line about him having a bigger “flashlight” than Mulder. She wouldn’t be surprised if he asked her to verify the legitimacy of that claim, right about now.

“Yes, Sir?” she replies, half-expecting him to give her a measurement for comparison.

“Just a little something for the night. To say, thank you,” He hands her a shiny black Bureau credit card. “Get some dinner, try out one of these fancy restaurants…”

“Thank you, Sir,” she says, thoroughly relieved.

“That is, unless the two of you have other plans,” he adds, facetiously. His face is red and shiny and his eyes are sparkling.

She practically runs to the door. Once outside, she bursts into laughter.

 

XXX

 

“How’d you know to look here?” Mulder asks, playfully tugging her by the hand, so that she flails a little on her party heels.

“It wasn’t my first guess,” she replies, as she falls into him.

He puts his arm around her, holding her close, as they walk off the movie-set.

“I thought you’d go for something a little more authentic,” she teases.

“Don’t tell me you searched every graveyard in town!” he exclaims, enjoying their banter.

“Just searching for zombies and an open casket,” she says, “And I wouldn’t have judged you, for once.”

“Hey, if I’d known that was how I’d finally end up on top of you, I would have been scouting them out, years ago.” He kisses the top of her head as they exit the building. The fresh evening air greets them and she circles her arm around his waist, as they stroll, as one, through the lamp-lit parking lot.

They manage to hail a taxi at the road. “Where to?” the driver asks.

Scully giggles as she follows him into the cab. “Yeah, where to?” she whispers to Mulder, beside her. Neither of them have the first clue as to where they are, let alone, where they are going.

“Take us, um…” he tries to think, pleasantly preoccupied with his partner and her slightly tipsy, but utterly endearing, behavior. Beaming, she places her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder. “Take us somewhere...” She taps his arm with the credit card Skinner had loaned them for the evening. “Somewhere expensive,” he says, decisively.

 

XXX

 

The restaurant they end up at is dimly lit with wide windows and a spectacular view of the city skyline.

Scully is on her third glass of wine – fourth, if you count the glass she downed at the after-party, during her awkward encounter with Skinner. She doesn’t.

“I have a question…” Mulder might be on his sixth glass by now, gauging by his ever-so subtle slur. “In all these years we’ve been together, we’ve seen each other at our bests and at our worsts…”

“Mmm hmm.” She doesn’t know where he’s going with this, but she’s already stifling a giggle. She takes a sip, steadies herself, and tries to focus.

“So, what’d you think?” he asks, leaning in close.

“About what?” she asks, genuinely perplexed, as well as concerned that her level of intoxication might be the cause of this confusion.

“When you saw me naked,” he explains, as though it were obvious.

“What?! Mulder!” she squeaks, laughing.

“I’m serious,” he says, plainly toying with her, but expecting a well-articulated response, nonetheless. “There were many instances –“

“I can’t believe you remember!”

“Well, don’t you?” he asks, as though he were so utterly disappointing by the idea that she wouldn’t have used those rare – often danger-filled and heart-wrenching – moments in which she’d seen him naked, as opportunities to ogle at his physique.

“I do,” she answers, carefully, pursing her lips to prevent them from curling into a smile.

“And?” he asks, enjoying every how ruffled she is. Not if she can help it.

“My mind was on bigger things, at the time,” she replies, smugly, pouring herself a new glass of wine.

“What do you mean, ‘bigger’?” Mulder asks, his eyes widening. He’s playing up his shock and horror for comedic effect, but she still thinks she senses a twinge of wounded desperation beneath his jesting exterior.

She doesn’t bite. She just looks away and chuckles, quietly. The wine has gotten to her limbs. She feels warm, tingly and somehow, touchable – every time he speaks, she can feel his words, as though they were caressing her skin, creating ripples of sensation as they go.

“Well, I certainly remember seeing you naked, for the first time,” he says, shrugging casually, as he takes a big a bite out of a breadstick.

“Mulder!”

“Well, of course I do!” he mumbles, as he chews.

“When?” she challenges.

He swallows hard. “When I rescued you from the spaceship!”

“It wasn’t a –“

“It wasn’t a…?” He places a hand on her arm and looks deep into her eyes. His own are laughing, even though he is not, at least, not out loud. “It wasn’t a what, Agent Scully?”

She smiles, surrendering. “When you rescued me from the spaceship, you saw me naked,” she summarizes. “Go on.”

“I snuck a peek, that was all,” he says. “Just enough to get me through the next two years.”

“Oh, you knew it would be two more years, did you?” she rags.

“I took a guess and I took my chances,” he replies. “Besides, I couldn’t, with any amount of integrity, take advantage, what with you being passed-out over my shoulder.”

“That was chivalrous of you, Mulder,” she purrs, rubbing his arm and playing along. She knows he’s merely joking, but at the same time, she remembers more than she has let-on, and not just in regards to the spaceship – or whatever it was that rose out of the ice that day in Antarctica.

“Mulder, I have a confession to make,” she says, mimicking the line from the movie earlier. He looks at her, wide eyed. She adopts a serious tone and divulges her own secret. “I saw.”

“The spaceship?” he asks, shocked that she might finally agree with him.

“No,” she says, firmly, shaking her head. “I saw you look.”

Oddly, even though he had just admitted to checking her out mid-rescue, he seems ever so slightly embarrassed to have been caught in the act. She’s in control of the conversation now and she’s thoroughly enjoying it.

“You saw?” he asks, his voice noticeably higher pitched than that which she’s used to.

She nods. “I did,” she whispers into his ear. “I didn’t mind.”

“What did you think?” he asks, enthralled, in spite of himself.

“I was thinking…” she takes a sip of wine as she considers how to word that which she had dissected, on end, for the past two years. “I was thinking that I never got to kiss you. It was the last thing I remembered. Not getting to kiss you.”

He says nothing, but she can tell by his expression that, like her, he kicks himself for never bringing up their near-kiss in the hallway that evening. She can’t believe that they lasted two years without ever broaching the subject.

She’s lost a bit of her momentum, now that she’s revealed the angst-riddled truth about the inner-workings of her heart and mind. “But,” she adds, brightly, “I did get my kiss that day.”

He looks at her, questioningly. “From…?”

“From you, silly!” she exclaims. “I pretended to require mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” She laughs, recalling how the cold and confusion had dissipated for a few precious moments, as she finally felt his lips cover her own. It was a brief, albeit blissful, fantasy in the midst of chaos.

He nods, locating the memory. “I though you were just pranking me.”

“I was,” she says, appreciating how easy it was to trick him, back in the day. “But,” she adds, drawing in close so that her lips graze against his. “I got my kiss.” His lips meet hers with enough passion to make-up for two years of missed kisses.

“How was that one?” he asks, his voice low and seductive.

She wishes they were already back at their hotel. “Much better,” she replies, barely getting the words out, as a familiar ache begins to grow in the place she most wants him to fill.

 

XXX

 

They saunter out into the Los Angeles night, believing that can walk to their hotel, based on the view from the restaurant, and the bottle of wine in their system. Scully’s feet beg to differ.

Mulder looks to the sky, in the way that she has grown to love.

“You can’t see the stars,” he observes, marveling at the vast indigo abyss.

“No, of course not,” Scully says, gazing up at him, curiously.

“Do you ever wonder why that is?”

“Well, it’s the light pollution,” Scully surmises, matter-of-factly, even though she knows it’s not the answer he wants. “Not to mention the smog.”

“I always thought that it was darkly prophetic that we were drawn to build cities that would obscure the night sky,” he says. She sobers, listening to his words. They’re the kind of words that make her want to never leave his side for as long as she lived – and even after that, if he could convince her of an afterlife, which he may have, as of late. Mulder often spoke of stars. He once told her that souls reside in starlight, which travels through space, long after the star has perished, never ending, never dying out.

“Why’s that?” she whispers, taking his hand and resting her head against his shoulder as they walk.

“When you look at satellite images of Earth, all you see of cities are great big balls of light. It’s as though we thought we needed to be the biggest star in the sky. So big, we can’t see all the rest.”

“Seeing is believing,” Scully adds, her voice cracking slightly as she considers how often she refused to believe.

“Sometimes it’s easier not to.” Mulder says, turning his face back down to Earth. “Can you walk in those things?” he asks, suddenly noticing her gait and abruptly changing the topic.

“I’ve chased monsters in much worse,” Scully argues, albeit weakly, considering her grimace. Her mind is stuck on starlight and cities and the people who live in them who are afraid to believe.

Mulder nudges her shoulder. One glance and she can tell by his expression that he is reading her thoughts as though they were printed in boldface type across her forehead. “I always knew you could see the stars,” he whispers, tenderly, into her ear, as though they weren’t the only ones on the street. “You never had me fooled.”

He dips his head to kiss her and she returns the gesture with unchecked urgency. She doesn’t want to think about anything else – how strange it feels to be here, under a starless sky, kissing her partner and best friend of seven years. She feels as though she’s floating outside herself, watching herself – someone’s lover, a believer, a woman who apparently can’t walk in 5-inch heels after four glasses of wine. She doesn’t know where they go from here, so she focuses on the present moment, squeezing her eyes tight and kissing him harder until he reminds her to come up for air.

“Hey,” he chortles. “You okay?”

“I’m fi –“ she stops herself. He knows her too well. “I’m great,” she breathes. “I just want to get back to our hotel.”

He nods. “I have a better idea.”

 

XXX

 

Their new hotel room is sparkling white with linens and porcelain. A Jacuzzi gurgles by the window, as though it were hotly awaiting their arrival. Two empty glasses and a bottle of white, on ice, welcome them from the night table. You really do get what you pay for, he marvels, accidentally out-loud.

Scully kicks off her shoes, as he goes to pour her yet another glass of wine. “You know how much I love bath time,” she says, groaning, as she dips her red and blotchy feet into the warm water.

“I do,” he says, handing her a glass and clinking it with his own. He sits on the edge of the tub, facing her as he removes his tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. “How are the feet?”

“Getting there.” She raises a hand to fiddle with his shirt buttons, picking up where he’d left off. Her sweet honey lips are poised, waiting patiently for a kiss and they curl up at the sides when he finally takes notice. Assaulting her smile, he feels her hand press up against his bare chest, hungrily pinching his flesh. It occurs to him that, in spite of their luxurious surroundings, the pace they’re keeping might have been better suited to a Motel 6. He’s so overwhelmed by her ravenous desire that he doesn’t see it coming, when he suddenly loses his balance and flips backwards into the water.

He emerges, drenched and sputtering. She’s laughing in the most maddeningly beautiful way, with her cheeks painted pink and her blue-green eyes glistening like sunlit oceans. “I’m so sorry, Mulder,” she gasps, in between giggles. Even though she had been apparently eager to go, only moments before, she seems perfectly content with this hilarity-rich intermission, especially at the expense of his pride.

He wipes his matted hair out of his eyes and gives her his best “not-impressed” look, which only makes her laugh harder. He stands up and removes his waterlogged dress-shirt as she gleefully watches from her safe and dry vantage point. He whips the wet garment at her, as though he were a Chippendales dancer, and she’s in uncontrollable hysterics, getting increasingly soaked as he continues the striptease with his sopping pants and underclothes.

“Mulder!” she shrieks as water sprays in her direction. “This dress is dry clean only!”

“Ha!” he sniggers, as he brings his dripping body close to hers, standing over her and forcing her to spread her legs to let him in. “Better take it off quick, then,” he growls, as he reaches around to unzip her and then lifts the hem of her dress, high above her head. He nuzzles his face into her cleavage, biting the lace trim of her push-up bra, kissing her breasts underneath and sucking moisture from her dewy skin. He gazes up at her rosy cheeks and ocean eyes, which are now rimmed by the sexiest cloudy kohl, thanks to the steam in the room.

“Show me,” he demands, a hybrid of an order and a plea. “Show me you want me.”

He can see that she is still amused, the way her eyes implore him. Just humor me, Scully, he thinks. “Please,” he offers, less forceful this time. “I want to watch you.”

She nods, looking away as she badly attempts to conceal her satisfaction. He doesn’t mind, however. She has every right to be smug. She opens her legs wider and arches her back as she slips one hand under the waistband of her panties. “Mmm, Mulder,” she moans, quietly. He can see her fingers working under the satin, and the fact that he can’t see what she’s doing makes it all the more erotic.

He takes a step back to observe her, in awe, as she proceeds to plays with herself. Even though her eyelids flutter open and closed, he knows she’s watching him the whole time. Tantalizingly, she touches herself for his voyeuristic enjoyment and he’s hopelessly drowning in the suggestion that she would have once pleasured herself, while picturing him, in her mind’s-eye. So many years, he had laid awake in dingy motel rooms, listening to her body rustle in its sheets on the other side of a poorly constructed wall. It nearly drove him to insanity, knowing that she was so close, but still, so far away. He’d get off fantasizing about her, getting off on him.

“Mulder,” she coos, breaking his reverie. “What are you thinking about?” She drags her fingers out of her panties and along her stomach, leaving a damp trail of moisture across her skin. “Hmm?” she hums, kicking her foot in his direction and splashing him in the face. He’s already wet, so he barely feels the water hit him. Other parts of his body, on the other hand, are instantly revved by her friskiness.

He’s at a loss for words, as he watches her run her hands up and down her bra straps. Instead of answering her question, he reaches down to feel his burgeoning erection. He could finish this off in two minutes flat, but he keeps a steady pace, attempting to match the slow, sensual performance he’d practically begged for.

He watches as she reaches around to unhook her bra clasp, allowing the silky garment to fall to the floor. Her breasts spring free and he devours them with his eyes, noting the faint pink lines that outline where the elastic had pressed against her pale peach skin. She erases the marks by massaging her palms against her breasts and he thinks he can see her nipples harden as she grazes them with her fingertips.

He had been hoping that her panties would be the next to go, but she keeps them on.

Languidly, she swishes her feet through the bubbling whirlpool, a seductive smile spreading across her face. He reminds himself that this was his idea and swallows hard as she brings her hand back down, pushing the fabric aside so that he can see just enough to render him senseless. She draws tiny shapes around her clit, murmuring his name to the ceiling, as though she were invoking a god.

If that wasn’t an invitation, he’s lost all patience to wait for one. He goes to her and her eyes pop open. Her mischievous smile tells him that she expected him not to last the exercise.

“That was your idea, Mulder,” she pretends to taunt.

“You should know better than to trust my ideas,” he replies, muffling her laughter with an aggressive kiss as he lifts her from her perch and into the water with him.

Underwater, her panties are still on, sticking to her skin and enforcing a barrier between their bodies. He reaches down to rip them from her and then immediately presses himself against her, relishing the contact he’d denied himself for all of five minutes.

Taking advantage of his monetary stupor, she takes over, pushing him against the wall, where they’re surrounded by water-jets that pulsate into his backside. He sits on the underwater ledge as she places her hands on his shoulders and lowers herself down on him, gasping now and then, as her walls give to accommodate his size. He definitely has the bigger “flashlight,” he can’t help thinking, with esteem. Somehow, his hands find their way to her hips and he has to make a conscious effort to resist the urge to jam himself into her. Thinking it might increase his stamina, he shuts his eyelids tight and focuses on his breathing, while she makes her painfully slow descent down his shaft.

“You’re impatient, Agent Mulder,” he hears her husky voice whisper. Opening his eyes, he sees that her lips are formed into a mock pout, poking fun at his apparent suffering. Her hand gently caresses his forehead as though he were a feverish child.

“No, no, I…” He begins to protest, but stops when he sees her move. Her pout has morphed into a sensual smile and her eyes seem to wink at him as she glides up his cock, disengaging completely.

“No?” she asks, feigning innocence. “So, you won’t mind….” She doesn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she continues to torment him, easily rising up and down his shaft in short, shallow bursts, but never taking him in full. He had restrained himself from coercing her down on him, thinking that it would hurt her, but now he sees that she’s enjoying every minute of it and he’s in agony, as he watches her deny him his own gratification.

“Mmm, Scully.” His voice rumbles its warning as he grows increasingly intolerant of her game. She doesn’t seem at all fazed, singing his name as she continues her sweet torture.

His hands squeeze her hips as a cautionary measure. His cock is throbbing and if she doesn’t take him now, he’ll have to intervene.

She’s blowing kisses now, paying no mind to his distress. Her lips brush against his neck, as though monitoring his pulse. There’s no way she isn’t in-tuned to his body’s most pressing needs – she’s a doctor, after all.

“Scully,” he pants, desperate now.

“Mmm?” she replies, her face squished-up against his chest. 

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, using his superior strength to pull her lower body closer to him.

She looks up, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah?” she breathes, blithely ignoring his aggravated tone. “I like that idea.”

He groans, realizing that in spite of the fact that he could easily overpower her, using her ass as a handgrip while he jimmies into her, his will is nullified in her presence. She is completely in control, merely behaving coy, in an effort to incite him further.

She slowly slides down his cock, murmuring in tongues as he fills new places inside of her. Grabbing her backside, he impetuously tears at her cheeks, stroking the tender flesh in between them, in an attempt to provoke her.

She gasps at his touch and slams into him, hard, as she reaches back to keep his hands from leaving her. He has her, now.

“Come on G-Woman,” he goads and she cracks a slight smile at the nickname. “You like that?” He squeezes her cheeks hard, pressing his fingertips into her most sensitive areas, as her hands steer him in the right direction. The most irresistible sounds flow from her lips as she grinds into him, gaining speed.

She crushes her clit against his lap and cries out as she sways erratically, zealously claiming her pleasure. He could have arrived ten minutes ago, but he’s been pitifully holding-on, not wanting to miss out on the journey. He can’t wait any longer. He grips her hips and begins vigorously pumping her, egging her on, as she recklessly rides him to her certain climax.

He’s feeling lightheaded as the steam clouds her features. He hears her telling him that she’s about to come, but he only sees a flash of red hair and her blurry form, through the mist. It reminds him of the million-and-one fantasies he’d had of her, where she’d appear to him in the translucent haze of his own arousal. He could be in his own living room, jerking off and only wishing that she’d come into focus and be real, for once. He feels his hands on her flesh and the taut heat of her interior as it seizes around him and he reassures himself that, this time, she is, in fact, real. Even though she had been real for many weeks now, the thought still sends shockwaves throughout his system. Through the clouds, her lips capture his own in a kiss and he breaks it, only to cry out her name, as he finishes, flooding into her and holding her close, lest she disappear into the fog.

 

XXX

 

Mulder lies in bed, woken by a series of vivid dreams. He knows they were audited this week, although he has yet to find out the results, much less the consequences. Earlier today, he could practically hear the numbers crunching all the way down from accounting, as they sealed his fate. The anxiety was obviously getting to him.

He reaches out to touch Scully, who sleeps, peacefully, on the other side of the bed. He tries to match her slow, steady breathing, in an effort to quell his nerves.

Watching her now, he’s reminded of one dream that wasn’t a nightmare. It’s a recurring one, now, and has been, for about a year. The little boy on the beach, building their sand spaceship under the roar of the surf. Their son. He recognizes him, even though it isn’t possible.

She doesn’t believe in premonitions, and even if she did, he wouldn’t tell her.

He rests his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tries to find sleep.

 

XXX

 

They’ve pretty much given up on the movie. She’d tried her best to stay interested, but even the slightest amount of alcohol in her blood prevents her from preserving any sort of pretense. She had kept distracting him, making comments and shifting on the couch beside him until he had caved. It had been a few weeks since they had been able to spend time together, in this way, and even though Mulder had aspired to make it a movie-night, she knows that he savors the moments they have with one another, sitting side by side, in his living room, as the rest of the world goes by.

For the past ten minutes, he has been posing the most random questions, both thought provoking and bizarre. She rests her head on his shoulder and lets him comb his fingers through her hair.

“What if you discovered that I was a pod-person?”

“This whole time?” she asks, deadpan.

He considers her query. “Maybe not the whole time. Maybe just these past few months.”

“You mean, since…?” She glances up at him, to better gauge his intentions.

“That’s right,” he says, his hazel eyes twinkling.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” she accuses. “Are you saying that only pod-Mulder would want to sleep with me?” Even though she’s playing along, she can vaguely recall at least one close encounter with a “pod-Mulder” who was so eager to jump into bed with her. If she wasn’t such a skeptic, she might think this weird attempt at humor was actually a confession.

“It’s a purely hypothetical question,” he replies, studying her attentively and not missing a beat, as he waits for her response.

Scully takes a swig of her beer and stares straight ahead, furrowing her brow and seriously considering the possibility that Mulder is, in fact, a pod-person. “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she concludes, lightly.

“Even you, Scully?” he asks, acting astonished. “Open to extreme possibilities, even with me, being gone?”

“Well, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have my doubts,” she rationalizes. “However, given the benefits of pod-Mulder over human-Mulder, I might be forced to broaden my outlook.”

Mulder gasps in feigned horror and pretends to stab the remote into his chest. She giggles, finishing her beer and setting down the bottle on the coffee table. She looks back at him and grins as he stretches out and brings his legs up behind her.

He holds out his hand and she takes it, letting him pull her to his chest as she settles comfortably between his legs. His arms entrap her in a cuddle and she inhales deeply, taking in his familiar scent. It is a mix of spices and sandalwood, both earthy and exotic. Like Mulder, it was of this world and yet, of another, entirely.

“Do you think this was meant to be, Scully?”

She titters at his sappiness, even though she’s often pondered the question, herself.

“Although multidimensionality suggests infinite outcomes in an [i](http://x-files.wikia.com/wiki/Parallel_universe?veaction=edit&redlink=1)nfinite number of universes, each universe can produce only one outcome."

She groans, as she hears him recite her senior thesis. “So, you’re a time traveller, now?”

“I told you, it was movie-night,” he quips.

“Just how much of that paper do you know by heart?” she asks, hoping to estimate just how embarrassed she should be.

“All of it,” he replies and although she can’t possibly fathom that he’d memorized all one hundred and four pages of her thesis, its warms her to think that he’d spent that many hours, wrapped in her thoughts, as juvenile and incomplete as she now considers them to be.

“If you’re a time traveller, shouldn’t you go back in time to save us from missing out on all of the opportunities?” she asks. “Wouldn’t you want us to find each other, earlier?” She glances up, peering at him, upside down. “Wouldn’t you have warned me about the bee?”

They laugh as he considers her query. “Maybe I did,” he says, finally. “Maybe I decided we got it right the first time.”

She sighs, contentedly, closing her eyes. “You definitely didn’t read the whole thing,” she remarks, giggling under her breath.

“Not the endnotes,” he says and they laugh together as the credits of the forgotten movie roll along to its theme song.

She opens her eyes to see white light filtering in from the window. “The moon is full,” she quietly observes, remembering the legend he’d told her about, months ago, before they’d become lovers.

“That was going to be my next question,” he says, enthusiastically. “Werewolves! What would you say if –“

“Do you think they ever figured it out?” she interrupts, deep in contemplation.

“Who?” he asks, perhaps pondering the enigma that he had once made her out to be. She would always keep him guessing.

“The sun and the moon,” she replies, yawning, “Do you think they ever found a way to be together?”

His breath catches, as though he was surprised that she remembers the story at all. “I don’t know,” he whispers, pensively, after a beat. “Maybe they’ve been together all along. They’ve just had to hide it from everyone.” He clasps her hand, and draws it up to his lips, kissing it softly, before letting it slide back down to his chest. His lips are seared onto her fingertips. “But,” he adds, “If we look real close, maybe then, we’d see.”

She’s pleased with his chosen ending, even if it wasn’t true to the original tale. But what was folklore, anyway, she reasons, if not a myriad of paths and possibilities.

“Skies like these are for those who believe,” he whispers and she smiles, cozying up to him and once again, closing her eyes.

“We’re getting the results of the audit on Monday,” she mutters as her head lolls across his chest. “You worried?”

“Nope,” he replies. She can’t see his face and so, she is left guessing at his level of confidence.

“Me neither,” she agrees, however, deep down, she does sense change in the air. It permeates everywhere, and not just in the spaces where she and Mulder have become lovers. Even though she welcomes new beginnings, she can’t imagine being reevaluated, reassigned and re-partnered. She finally understands why, if the universe had a plan, she was sent to work on the X-Files. It has opened her mind as much as it has her heart and it’s a path she isn’t ready to give up on, just yet.

She can feel him kiss the top of her head and she instantly relaxes, snuggling into his embrace.

“I mean, how many times have they tried to shut us down, anyway?” she asks, rhetorically, although she can probably calculate the exact number.

“And if they succeed, this time?” he asks. He’s joking, but there’s a tentative quality to his voice that tells her she should have known that he wasn’t as certain as he had claimed. His question hangs in the air, as she contemplates its reality.

She rolls around to face him, propping her chin on top of his chest and rising and falling with him, as he breathes in and out.

“You’ll still have your work,” she whispers, gazing up at him, lovingly. “And you’ll still have me.” She extends her neck to kiss him and he returns the gesture, sealing the deal in their union.

No more missed moments. She makes a silent vow and holds him tight, as though he could easily vanish into the night. She feels warm and safe, and yet, frightened, all the same. Their lips part ways and they smile at each other, in recognition of their shared understanding. It occurs to her, now, that the fear she is experiencing is unlike any she has encountered in her time hunting aliens and monsters with her partner, Spooky Mulder. Although she has never felt it quite like this before, she suspects that this kind of fear is that which comes with falling in love.

Seven years was too long to wait, and yet, somehow, it was just right. The FBI could never take him away from her, but nevertheless, out of this sweet new fear, they make love that night, as though it would be the last time they’d ever be together.

 

 

End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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